Bottoms Up
by Milkbottle
Summary: Now Eileen had been confronted with some strange things as a bartender, but finding James Potter sitting by the countertop after five years of happy non-interaction had certainly been... somewhat confounding. James x OC
1. Chapter 1

"Another!" said the blonde as she slammed the glass onto the countertop with a loud thud, her lips smacking with great delight.

There was a moment of silence. She looked up, confused as to why the shot hadn't magically refilled itself within the span of that measly microsecond, and was dismayed to find me peering down at her with a reprimanding frown.

"I'm not _that_ drunk," she protested with a telling sway.

"Oh, certainly not," I snorted as I picked up her glass and placed it inside the sink, counting off the number of drinks she'd managed to hustle out of me with her wicked wiles… and fell one finger short of reaching a double digit. The drunken tetch. How dare she make me feel so irresponsible.

It was a wonder she was even awake.

"Really, really, really, 'Leeny," she tried to say with a winning smile, except her r's were slurring and her eyes were half-lidded. I tried not to cringe at her mutilation of my name. "Really, really. Drunk? Me? I am not."

I snorted again. "Nope. I'm calling it. You're done."

"Aw, come on," she pestered, eyes going wide as she tried to convince me with charm. Unfortunately, I'd lived long enough with the girl to develop a bit of a threshold and I wasn't budging. Credit is due, however, to the valiant effort she gave. The sober one would have given me great guilt, but even this drunken mess of a display had the potential to make a lesser human go weak in the knees.

I was not a lesser human.

Wisely, I filled up a glass of water and sprinkled in some crushed flitterwing leaves for the dreaded morning after—experience dictated I was to do anything I could to minimize the inevitable whinging.

I purposefully placed the glass in front of Gina and she eyed me with disdain. "Killjoy," she muttered.

"Bottoms up, you nutjob."

"Good god, fine," Gina glowered, picking up the glass and gulping it down with exaggerated repulsion. "You're such a twat, Eileen. Who went an' made you mum anyway? It's not like I don' have _reason_."

"You're too pissed to Apparate," I observed with great perception as I began to walk off, wiping my hands over my jeans. "Sit in the corner and wait a mo', I'll see if I can find someone to drop you home."

"I'd like to have a Jeremy, please," she said primly, though the effect was a bit compromised with the slurring. "He is nice."

"Sure, sure," I rolled my eyes and stood on my tippy toes in search of the handsome server, and zeroed in on the table in the corner, with the young party-partiers that came out on the night before September 1st to rebel against their parents. With a small tap on the leather band on my wrist, I grinned as he flinched with the sudden buzz.

He turned around and gave me a long-suffering look. "You summoned?" he called out as he nodded at his customers—the young women with the swooning smiles who paused in their appreciation to give me an annoyed glare that I unceremoniously ignored—before walking over, his clunky leather boots thudding against the hardwood floor. His black work-shirt was wrinkled and his brown eyes glinted in the warm light. This man, objectively, was a cutie.

I resisted the urge to pinch a cheek. "I did."

"Yes, well, tell me what to do then." he said patiently as he reached into his pocket for a bunch of order slips. I gave in to the urge to pinch a cheek and he gave me another long-suffering look.

My hand apologetically retreated from his cheek and then took the order slips. The other one pointed at Gina. As Jeremy turned, I snuck an appreciative peek at his arse before scoffing at the slips, which depicted a pronounced lack of adventure.

His eyebrows furrowed at the blonde's dismal state. "Whoa, is she okay?"

I set about making the first round of woefully diluted Firewhiskies—table six was having too much of a hoot and did not need further encouragement—and looked back at the girl. Gina had gone from let's-party-party-so-hard-we-can-barely-remember-anything-the-day-after to tragic-internal-screaming with surprising volatility, and was currently staring at her empty water glass with a gloomy scowl. "Well," I said in reflection of my observations. "No."

"Thank you," Jeremy said dryly. "For your enlightening words."

"Oh, anytime," I said. "Can you take her home? She's a travel hazard on her own."

"Sure, sure," he agreed, as he made his way over to Gina. "She tell you what got her so down?"

I sighed and scratched my elbow. "No, she just slumped in sometime ago and started guzzling it. I've no idea what for, she refused to say." I gave him an imploring look. "I'd take her myself but I can't leave the bar unmanned—"

"No, that's not a problem," he pish-poshed. "Dogwood Avenue, right? Don't sweat it, 'Leen, I'll be back in a few for the orders." And with that, he began to gently coax her to her feet again. I felt my lips twitch into a fond smile as Gina laid her head on his shoulder, him struggling to grab her cloak as he held her up at the same time. Ah, these cuties. I loved them. Somehow, he managed to steer her toward the Apparition point and within the next second, they disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

Quickly finishing up the orders, I considered the mess that was my best friend. I was burning with both curiosity and righteous indignation about whoever had thrown her to this horrific state, but figured I could weasel it out of her in the morning, when she was awake and irritable and a lot more readable. Tomorrow was proving to be something to really look forward to. Yay.

"Two Whistling Waters and a Firewhisky, sweets," Lianne suddenly appeared, her frizzy brown curls spilling over her eyes as she began to unload an entire tray of empty goblets. I grinned at her affectionately—the thirty-year-old woman had always been one of my favorite waitresses.

Swiftly spelling three goblets clean, I began to pour and mix. "Busy night?" I asked her conversationally as she sat down for a bit of respite.

"Oh, hardly, hon', I just haven't slept in a while—" Her hands rose to tug the wayward curls back into place, and her lips pulled up into a tired smile. "I'm trying to finish the book by this week, you know."

"Oh yes," I recalled. Lianne Richards, soon-to-be household name in the realm of children's fiction and fantasy. "The kid that keeps accidentally finding himself inside his bedtime stories, right? Finally decide on a title?"

Her smile died immediately. "Don't remind me." I will take that as a no.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Thanks, babe," she grinned as I set the drinks down on her tray, and was gone as quick as she came.

Whew.

Finally getting a quiet moment, I leaned my elbows against the countertop and looked around at the little pub, just to generally see how things were going.

As most lazy Tuesdays went, the Odd Waffling was taking it easy this evening. A comfortable crowd of kickbackers was lounging about the pub, enjoying a nice drink after work with the menu's dinner special. Floating orbs cast the space with this nice yellow light and the jukebox was thankfully in a good mood, because Timothy Spellman's _Siren Call_ was setting the vibe, which always put me in a cracking mood.

I sighed, humming along with the chorus, and then jumped at the buzz on my wrist. With a quick move, my hand seized the order slip that had popped into existence above my fingertips—thanks Aggie—and I squinted at the handwriting. Three Dwarf's Ales and two Firewhiskies—gag me. I sighed and set about preparing the tray, crying inwardly because everyone was so boring—before an ear perked. A bar stool had scraped against the hardwood flooring some ways down the countertop.

A squatter!

My lips pulled up into a welcoming smile as I finished the order and began to turn around. "So what are we having, then—James Potter?"

Whaaaat.

Oh, no. No way.

Potter?

Like, _Potter_ Potter?

What was _he_ doing here?

Okay, I'll admit, I was staring and I probably looked very stupid.

He was just sitting there, rumpled hair and pretty eyes and all, and I immediately felt a bit of a flutter within my tummy when confronted with this attractive specimen after so long, which I resented. Say what you will about the guy (and believe me, I was capable of saying quite a bit), his parents certainly threw him a genetic party on that particular front. Then again, with people like Harry and Ginny Potter for parents, anybody would pop out looking at least half-attractive.

(Both Albus and Lily Potter could be offered as supplementary evidence to justify these claims.)

He still used to be a little shit, though.

My smile had long since turned into a frown as I regarded the twat in front of me with a disbelieving gaze. His clothing was ruffled, and a five 'o' clock shadow accentuated his admittedly strong jawline in a way that made him look like he'd walked off the pages of Witch Weekly magazine— _god_ , these pretty people. My utterance of his name had interrupted an apparently _fascinating_ perusal of his long, calloused fingers (mother of Merlin), and he slowly looked up to lock onto my eyes.

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw unhinged. A moment of silence. At this point, I recovered from my own stupid gaping to become exasperated about his. "Eileen Watts?" he said, tone tinged with disbelief, and I resisted the urge to clap in congratulations, staunchly stifling my hypocrisy. _Now Eileen_ , I told myself as my shoulders rose and fell in a sarcastic shrug. _We aren't seventeen anymore._ "S'my name," I said instead as I placed the last Dwarf's Ale onto the awaiting tray. His eyebrows rose.

 _Well?_ I waited impatiently as he stared at me with incredulity littered all across his damnable features. He sure was taking a while to react to this. I'm surprised too, bud, but come on. Really?

Then again, he wasn't a bartender. If that were the case, he would have been well used to bizarr-o things happening to him on an everyday basis, as I had very quickly understood. Potter coming to the Odd Waffling was tame compared to other things.

Like Minerva McGonagall walking in and absentmindedly declaring that I mixed a mean drink and should therefore learn to expect her _much_ more often, lord knows she needed a couple to counter the pain she suffered courtesy all those 'twittering fools' that passed for the student population… never mind the fact that I used to be one. Minerva certainly knew how to let her hair down when she got her hands on some good quality booze. Who would have thought?

I suddenly realized how distracted I'd become and brought myself back to this befuddling confrontation. Potter was still gaping at me like an idiot, which made me feel more hypocritical as I quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. After a few more seconds of observing his expression, however, I was faced with another realization. He had transcended the gaping. My jaw dropped.

He was checking me out.

His eyes were scanning me slowly from head to foot and _whoa_ , talk about a change in convention—Potter had never checked me out before, and it was a _weird_ feeling. I was familiar with obnoxious eye-rolls and unimpressed toots from him, sure, but this? No way.

Unsure of whether I ought to be flattered or offended, I settled for neither and decided instead to look everywhere but at his face, suddenly incredibly hyperaware about every single thing that happened around me. There was a crack in the ceiling, I observed—need to get that fixed—and the jukebox had transcended from playing Timothy Spellman to some unhappy ballad by Celestina Warbeck—obviously, someone had gone and offended the temperamental little clunker. God, did nobody ever read the warning signs?

In the back of my mind, I also began to feel very conscious about what I'd decided to wear today, which only consisted of my baggy boyfriend jeans, old leather boots and a grey T shirt. My hair had been thrown into a messy bun to keep it out of my eyes and the little foundation I'd applied had probably started to look a little sticky, which made me inwardly grimace. I really wasn't looking my best and whoa, hadn't I noticed a pimple on the side of my nose on my bathroom break earlier this evening? Holy shit, this really wasn't good, and…

…and honestly, why did this matter, this was _Potter,_ I didn't give two squats about what Potter thought, now _really_ , Eileen.

My lips instantly pursed as I remembered that I was an empowered young woman, and all my silly woman-insecurities were pushed to the side. A glance to my right reminded me of all those drinks that had yet to be served and I tapped my wand on the wristband to notify Aggie that the orders were ready.

It was rather cool, actually—the wristbands, I mean. A modification of the Protean Charm with a runic permutation that allowed for a variety of simple communications—one of my first very fiddlings as a Hogwarts graduate. Everyone on staff was required to wear one while on the job. I was very proud of it.

Potter still wasn't saying anything, which was odd. Back in school, you couldn't shut him up. My eyebrows furrowed and I opened my mouth to say something but was interrupted by a warm voice.

"Eileen," said Aggie Lowell as she walked up to me, her lips pulled up into a tiny smile. Her eyes flitted towards Potter and I saw her blue eyes widen with recognition, which was usual in the Potter routine. Thankfully she didn't start squealing, which would have made me want to smack her. She looked back at me, eyes wide. "You've got the order?"

"Mhm." I ignored her stupefied expression and pointed at the three waiting trays. People were probably getting antsy for their drinks… what was taking Jeremy so long? I looked around to check on the tables and realized that they were all too smashed to notice. Okay, maybe not.

She pulled out her wand and levitated the trays. A belated glance around the pub reminded me of table ten and the hoot they were having—table four was starting to frown. I tugged at Aggie's sleeve. "Keep an eye on table ten, will you? Give them popcorn, they need a bit of calming down."

(The popcorn only went to the rowdiest of folks. It was actually garnished with valerian sprig, an ingredient often used in the making of Sleeping potions. Just enough to get them a bit droopy-eyed and sludgy, great for some nice, non-confrontational herding.)

"Gotcha." She began to walk away, giving Potter one last sidelong glance before tossing me an approving wink. I rolled my eyes.

Potter was still gaping, which made me give him a considering glance. How strange. I'd never been faced with a reaction like this. Perhaps he got stupider with time.

Then again, having sudden confrontations with one's casual schoolyard nemesis after five years of non-interaction wasn't exactly on the everyday menu—maybe gaping for extended periods of time was the usual reaction, you never know.

It was mildly discomfiting to have spent more than five minutes in his acquaintance and not have shouted even once, though—what was a girl to do in such a situation, I wondered.

His mouth moved soundlessly.

Okay, man, I'll make the awkward first move. Forcing my lips to form a pleasant smile, I slipped right into warm-and-welcoming bartender mode. "So what'll you have then?" I asked him as I grabbed a jigger. "A Bloodcurrant Rum? Asphodel Extract? Or maybe some of that good old Firewhiskey? The last one's a bit boring if you ask me, but your call."

"You work here," he said finally.

Wow, Potter, take full marks. I resisted the urge to offer him a gold star.

"What gave me away?" I said dryly as I picked up the shaker and started making him a Bloodcurrant Rum, which happened to be one of my favorite red wine and rum infusions (with a magical twist).

"I haven't ordered yet," he told me amusedly, and I was relieved to observe that he was capable of an emotion other than incredulity, thank the heavens.

"You were taking too long," I told him as I carried on regardless. With great attention to detail, I topped the drink off with a sprig of fresh mint and a hint of crushed Puffapod before setting it down in front of him with a purposeful thud.

Potter stared at his drink with a hint of apprehension. I gave him an unimpressed look. "Potter, have a little faith." Of course it hadn't been poisoned.

I'd lose my...well, my status as a law-abiding member of society. Plus my job.

Potter still looked cautious. A frown began to form on my forehead. With another glance at my pinching face, he picked up his glass and took a sip.

"Wow," he said, and he sounded genuinely surprised. I felt conflicted—one side of me wanted to do a cartwheel because I made good drinks, while the other side wanted to punch him for doubting my skills. Then he decided to continue. "I'm not dead."

"Potter…" I felt my eyebrow twitching, and I wondered what had happened to all that patience I'd gathered up during all those years of bartending—he hadn't even said anything that offensive and it was already like I was back in Seventh Year, turning red in the face and shooting insults at him with a few hexes thrown in for emphasis because he'd done something incredibly embarrassing and stupid (as was usual).

"I'm kidding!" he held up his palms but he looked a little mischievous. He looked like he was slowly getting used to this strange situation... yes, wonderful. "It's great, really—what's it called?"

"Bloodcurrant Rum," I told him crisply. "It's actually one of my favorites. Thank you, though," I added a little reluctantly. "I appreciate it."

There was a small pause. I took a moment to observe Potter as he did the same to me. Finally, the silence got the better of me and I made an indistinguishable noise.

Potter laughed. It was a nice laugh. I almost slapped myself but then told myself to hold it together, you idiot, and then got irate with myself for insulting myself, and then thanked god this exchange wasn't occurring out loud, because who wanted to look like an unintentional schizophrenic. At last, he decided to respond. "So how come you're…" Unable to quite articulate, he waved a hand in extensive description of our location.

It looked a little demeaning. My eyes instantly narrowed.

"No, no," he backtracked nervously as soon as he caught sight of my fierce look. "It's really cool, I swear!" he paused, looking a bit helpless. "I just thought—I mean, it's just surprising. I always had you pegged for a Ministry job back in school considering you were such a—er, it just looked like something you'd do, is all. You know what I'm talking about." He cut himself off and closed his eyes, looking very appalled with how badly he'd handled that piece of stupid, and waited for me to explode.

What a mess. I suddenly felt this strange urge to laugh.

I really had simmered down from my time at school.

"I did work in the Ministry after I graduated," I finally said reluctantly, inwardly smirking when his eyes shot open in complete astonishment. "It didn't work out as I thought it would, so I quit." Potter was staring at me like he hadn't ever known me before, and I felt strangely pleased to have defied his expectations. Feeling generous, I decided to elaborate. "My aunt owns this place and she gave me the job to help pay the rent—the fact that it ended up suiting me is just a very welcome bonus." My lips twitched into a small smile. "I do suppose I'm different from how you remember me."

Potter snorted at the understatement, looking perplexed and relieved. Like he didn't know what to think of me anymore. I brushed the hair out of my face and finally grinned. "No need to bother asking about you, anyway." I said, my eyes teasing. "You're all over the papers, aren't you? Star Chaser of the Arrows and all."

"Yeah," he said, looking a bit pink at my words. Potter being modest? What a peculiar experience. "That's not entirely true, you know—just the Prophet, they like to make it much bigger than it is, considering my family and all…"

I furrowed my brows. Was I imagining things or was that sincerity? "Potter," I said, a bit astonished at this emotionally questionable version of James Potter—the only kind I'd seen was the cheeky, stupid, arrogantly flirty one… whoa, emotionally questionable Potter was kinda endearing.

I coughed. "The Prophet might be a bunch of simpering morons but they're a countrywide news source, you know." I faltered, but then did something stupid. I continued. "They do need to possess at least a semblance of truth in what they say, no matter how much they exaggerate."

Well. Way to sound like a dissertation. Hey, remember that time when I used to be a stuck-up prune of a Head Girl? Who cared that Potter had self-esteem issues anyway? He was a grown man. He could handle it without me acting like a twat.

There was a small pause. I didn't want to see how he was reacting to this particular spiel, but a glance from the corner of my eye told me he looked awkward, which made me think, well. Same. The washcloth caught my gaze and I quickly picked it up before proceeding to wipe the already-clean countertop. Now this was what I called a brilliant first-after-half-a-decade conversation.

Potter took a sip of his drink and then took three more—a part of me rejoiced because he liked my drink. "Thanks," he said, and then sipped some more. After a moment, he added, "I think."

We stared at each other.

And then just when I was starting to get _real_ uncomfortable, his features arranged to form a hesitant smile. Thank Merlin. "This is a very bizarre evening I'm having here," he said as took yet another sip of his drink before emitting a satisfied sigh, which made me tingle with happiness.

"What are you saying, man?" I said jokingly. "You should come to the Odd Waffling more often. It's the place to be at for that classic brand of awkward reunion."

"Never knew what I was missing out on then," he grinned, quickly finished off his drink with a few more gulps. I almost automatically began to prepare him another drink, mulling over the weirdly positive turn this encounter had taken. Never would I have thought that a happenstance involving Potter would result in anything but furious dialogue, but it had. And it was starting to look like we might actually…

Get along.

This was weird.

Really weird.

As my hand wrapped around the small dispenser of Snippernut extract, I suddenly registered what I was doing. I was making him a Bristling Bastard.

My hand stilled. Just how distracted was I? I inwardly swore as I stared at the swirling mixture, wondering what I was to do now. Dump it? Give it to him anyway, see how he reacts? I'd already made most of it, and it would be such a waste…

The drink I'd been making was one of my crazier creations. Not exactly on the menu, but I was rather fond of the concoction. And I'd only ever tested it on Gina before.

I gave Potter a sidelong glance. The guy was laidback, wasn't he? _Too_ laidback, sometimes—it used to be one of the main reasons why we clashed as students. He wouldn't mind, would he?

I warily picked up the Snippernut and poured in two ounces.

"—but no," I blinked as his voice suddenly faded back into existence. Oh. He'd been talking all throughout and I hadn't heard a single word, which made me feel slightly guilty. I made sure to listen as he continued, watching him gesture as I poured in a healthy sampling of gin. "I'd just come over to my agent's place for a chat and decided to walk around instead of immediately Apparating. Saw this place a couple of minutes in and decided to pop in for a couple of swigs… certainly didn't expect to bump into you of all people."

"Weirder things have happened, you know," I informed him as I placed the crackling, milky glass in front of him with an unintentional flourish. Potter stared at it, looking fearful but interested. I began to feel much more positive about my choice of cocktail… after all, he hadn't run away like I had dreaded he would.

"What is it?" he asked as he picked up the goblet and sniffed. He didn't take an immediate sip, even though I knew it smelled gorgeous.

"I like to call it the Bristling Bastard," I told him with a tentative smile. "It's a gin-and-white-wine infusion, with Snippernut, and a teensy bit of crushed Unicorn hair." He gave me a scrutinizing glance, and I couldn't help but urge him a little bit. "It's nice, really. I promise you won't drop dead."

He still didn't take a sip. Rather, his eyes widened in realization, which instantly made me hide my face with my hands. Slowly, his lips curled to form an amused smirk. "Are you experimenting on me, Watts?"

I peeked at him through my fingers. "Maybe a little."

His smirk widened. "I haven't consented to it, you know."

I gave him an imploring look. "Give it a shot."

I felt very uncertain as he stared at me, smirk still prominent. The seconds passed and the silence dragged on, piling me with nervousness as neither of us moved a single muscle. Then just when I was about to offer to take it back, he raised the glass and took a large, daring gulp.

I held my breath, steadfastly ignoring that feeling downstairs at the bob of his Adam's apple, that was a _large_ gulp, holy shit—

Potter sputtered.

"Mother of _fuck_ ," he said, eyes going wide as his tongue began to tingle from the Snippernut, as I knew it would. Snippernut was a tricky concentrate to use—the plant it came from was known to use slight shocks as a defensive mechanism, but the Unicorn hair actually softened the blow so that it was only just a series of strong prickles. Gina had bequeathed me with a hundred kisses when I'd tested it on her the very first time, but she was only one person. What did Potter think?

"Do you like it?" I asked him eagerly, and he looked at me with these stunned eyes.

"Like it?" Potter asked me, and with a jolt I saw that a couple of his hairs were actually standing on end as a consequence of the aftershock, which made my mouth tug at the corners. "Watts, this is so good! Merlin's _ballsack_ ," he took another _large_ gulp, shivering when his mouth began to tingle again. "I adore this."

Accomplishment!

I grinned, feeling pleased, and poured myself a glass of water to sip on.

Then it hit me. Again. Potter and I were having a civil conversation. Potter and I were having a conversation I actually enjoyed. This hadn't happened in... Well, it hadn't happened. Like ever.

"Potter," I said with wonder as he went for it and gulped down like half the glass, which _really_ made his hair stand on end. I shook my head and laughed, feeling very flattered. "Potter, look at us. We're actually having a conversation. A _civil_ conversation."

"I'm aware," he said. A bemused grin spread across his face and holy moly, I was shocked to realize that I found it really cute. "And you haven't even resorted to hexing me yet. It's probably a personal record."

"Hey," I said with furrowed brows. "I wasn't that bad. Was I?"

Potter's eyes twinkled. "It's okay," he said with amusement. "I was probably just as bad."

"You were a little shit back then," I informed him as I relaxed, finally comfortable.

His grin widened. "And you were an obnoxious little know-it-all. Which one's worse?"

My lips pursed in joking annoyance. "Gitface."

He was quick to respond. "Arse-kisser."

I geared for a challenge. "Wanker."

His eyebrows raised. "Swot."

"Twatwipe."

"Anal neurotic."

"Shrivel-dick."

"Baddock's arsecrack."

"Broderick's butt plug."

"Oh, that's so vile."

Wait, that last one hadn't come from either of our mouths—

My gaze flew to the right and settled on Jeremy's laughing visage. Potter whipped around just as surprised, and Jeremy twittered his fingers at us with an entertained smile.

I immediately turned red.

"Jeremy," I coughed, and for some reason I felt very embarrassed. "You're back."

"I am," he agreed as he picked up his notebook and pen. "Gina was refusing to be put to bed. I was afraid you were going to throw a fit but obviously I needn't have worried." His grin turned almost evil as he gave Potter a friendly nod. "You barely noticed I was gone."

Oh, god.

Potter smiled back, but even he looked a little red. He looked red and very, very uncertain. Quietly, he distracted himself by focusing on his drink. My blush became even worse with his obvious mortification. Way to conceal that regret that definitely nobody needs to see, mate.

"I—" I cleared my throat and patted my cheeks, unwilling to meet any of their eyes. Almost subconsciously, my hands reached for the washcloth and I began wiping the countertop again—god, I was getting real predictable with that habit. I needed to come up with better distractions, and soon. "Well, you know, old Hogwarts acquaintances and all—"

Then I noticed table seven trying to catch our attention, which immediately made me sigh with insurmountable relief. "Oh look, table seven is beckoning," I pointed vaguely and hurriedly. "Go."

Jeremy laughed again. "On it, boss-lady." He saluted, and with a quick adjustment of his T-shirt, he picked up his orders and finally left.

I didn't look at Potter, still embarrassed. "I'm sorry, he's a bit of a joker."

"It's cool, really," he said, and I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to see him smiling, still a little pink. Okay, that was a bit optimistic. "He sounds like a good guy."

"Mhm," I said, and gulped my water until the blush started to recede. "Would you like another drink, then?"

"Oh," he said as he stared at his empty glass. "No, I'm good. Actually, I ought to be going… I'm already a bit late for dinner. I shouldn't have stayed as long as I had."

"Oh," I said, and for some reason I felt a bit dismayed. Scratch regret, he probably wanted to erase the entire thing from his memory or something. I tilted my head and forced a smile. "Alright, sure. It was good catching up with you, though."

"Yeah," he agreed, slipping out of his stool to give me a little quirk of his lips. I was too involved in my lamentations to fully appreciate how adorable it was. "How much is it?"

"Hm?" I frowned before realizing he was talking about the bill. I bit my lip and waved it off. No way was I going to let him pay after that. "Don't worry, it's on the house."

"What?" he frowned right back at me. "Don't be silly, I can pay—"

"Potter," I cut him off, my hands fiddling with the washcloth in my hand. "I was using you as a test subject, anyway. Consider it an apology for… you know…"

"But—" he continued to protest, but fell silent when he saw my pleading look. "Fine," he relented, and the smile returned. "It was nice seeing you, Watts. I might bump into you again."

 _Sure you will._ I laughed. The guy was probably never going to darken the Waffling's doorstep again. "Bye, Potter."

"See you," he said, and then turned to walk away. I sighed, smile slipping.

Then he turned back, almost as an afterthought. My body froze.

"You can call me James, you know" he said awkwardly.

Uh.

"Uh," I uttered, completely nonplussed, and Potter hurried to continue. "I mean, Watts, you don't have to," he said, holding up his palms. "I was just saying—"

"It's Eileen," I interrupted, and then paused, bewildered. Had I really just said that? Potter— _James_ —looked surprised. " I proceeded to clarify. "You can be James if I can be Eileen."

Wow, way to sound like a total twit.

"Eileen," he repeated, and the way he sounded out my name actually made my toes curl. Holy shit. And then he grinned so wide that I had to catch myself before I swooned. This was unnerving. Any more and I would explode. "I'll see you."

My lips quirked. "Potter— _James_ ," I tried, and was surprised to find how easy was to say—you know, not in terms of the act of saying words, it was like one syllable—but figuratively speaking. "James," I repeated more confidently, and I think maybe his eyes glowed, but eyes tended to do that because light, and reflection and all, so I dismissed that outrageous thought. "I hope you have a good night."

He inclined his head in appreciation before giving me one last smile. And then he left.

I waited for ten seconds.

Good, no sign of him.

Holy fuck on fucking shit. That just happened. That _just_ happened. Were we flirting? We were flirting, weren't we? I was flirting with him. He was flirting with me. We were flirting with each other. Wow, Potter—I mean James—he was here, and we talked like civil human beings—and then we flirted. Oh my god.

I sagged against the countertop, feeling strangely exhausted.

I needed a drink.

Like right now.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hello!

Edited and then reuploaded chapter one. Two might come soon! Gotta explore this alcohol business man, it's too tempting not to. Tell me what you think!

See you later. :)

R.


	2. Chapter 2

I took a sip of my coffee and considered the indistinguishable lump on the bed with a hum.

As if on cue, the bedside clock ticked into 8:00 AM and Gregory Goyle's strong tenor immediately filled the room— _this hex that holds me, this wicked little witch with her firewhiskey kisses—_ I subconsciously tapped my foot to the beat. Smooth song.

The lump on the bed moved. A hand slowly emerged from under the covers and began to slap the clock. With a sputter, the clock spat out a few slurs before slipping and falling to the floor with a loud crash. A faint groan was heard before it finally fell silent.

RIP Leslie.

"Ack," said the lump as the hand receded back into the covers. "My head."

"Get out of bed, asshole," I said and ignored the subsequent groan. Assertively setting my coffee down on the overflowing desk, I went over to the window and opened the charcoal curtains with a great flourish. Oh look, it was morning.

The bright sunshine flooded the room with a great vengeance, illuminating the bright teal furniture and the framed posters above the quaint little queen-size— the Wicked Weird, Timothy Spellman, the Ramones, Billie Holiday—clearly this person had an amazing taste in music.

"Is that sunlight?" Gina muttered as she burrowed further into my grey duvet. "I hate sunlight."

"This is my bed," I told her conversationally as I picked up my coffee again, gulping down the last bit of cinnamon-y goodness. "Jeremy stuffed you in the wrong room."

"I like your bed," she responded as she tried to find a more comfortable position, her blonde head peeking out a bit as she gave me the stink-eye. "You on the other hand, I severely despise."

"Get out of it," I said to her, slightly saddened that the coffee was over. "You have work in an hour."

"I can't go to work," she argued, bringing the duvet back over her eyes. "I'm sick."

"No," I huffed and pulled out my wand, feeling a touch impatient. "You have sick people to _heal_. You already took a day off last week for that concert in Leeds."

"It was a good concert," she told me with what sounded like an actual smile—I didn't really know, her head was not visible. "I had fun."

"Up!" I declared, pointing my wand. The duvet was abruptly snatched from her body and she automatically curled in protest.

"Eileeen!" she whined.

"There's a Sober-Up on the bedside and coffee on the pot." I blew her a flying kiss and then turned around to leave. "I can make you honey pancakes!"

A faint 'fuck you' echoed in the silence. And then a small, sulky 'okay, coming'.

* * *

"So," I kicked up to balance my chair on its two back-legs, popping a fresh apple slice into my mouth. "You wanna talk about yesterday or what?"

Gina made a noise and I took a moment to observe her. Her eyes were rimmed and her white-blonde hair was rumpled and piled up into a rough knot on the top of her head. Her fingers curled around her coffee mug, bright pink nails covering the loud, glittery lettering—'check out this babe'—and she was refusing to meet my gaze.

I waited patiently. Finally, she leaned back and sighed. "Louis got a girlfriend."

Oh.

I grinned.

Her eyebrows furrowed at me. "Why is that your immediate reaction, you deceivingly evil nutcase, I tell you something bad and the first thing you do is smile, are you serious?"

I took a sly sip of my coffee. "Finally getting around to admitting our feelings, are we?"

Gina scoffed. "I don't have feelings for Louis." She sounded so unconvincing she couldn't persuade her way out of a paperbag, much less this specific turn of conversation. I gave her a look to illustrate my opinion, and she scoffed further.

"His girlfriend is Joan Finnegan." She widened her eyes at me, like _there you have it_ , but the effect was ruined because it actually left me a bit unsure.

"Who's that?" I asked. She looked betrayed.

"Some best friend you are," she scoffed yet again, sounding like a girl who was scoffing entirely too much and was desperately trying not to acknowledge it. "Remember Anne from school who once told me I sounded like a dying crow, and then spat in my pumpkin juice when I told her to stick her wand down her throat and cast a couple hundred Glamours so that for once she could fool herself into believing she was capable of being beautiful on the inside?"

"Yes…" I gave her weird eyes. Comparatively speaking, she wasn't in much of a position to still be offended.

"Well, Joan Finnegan's her younger sister."

Pause.

"Just to be clear," I struggled to understand. "The one doing the dating isn't the one that called you a dying crow and spat in your pumpkin juice after you attempted to destroy her self-esteem."

"Well," she shrugged unrepentantly. "No."

"Gina, we've talked about this before."

"Hey, I've got a good handle on my misplaced hate issues by now, this is just like remnant resentment—it's almost like nostalgia really."

"Yes, well—" Oh, whatever. She was only using it as an excuse, anyway, so… I abandoned my scolding tone and went back to grinning.

"You're grinning again."

"Yes, but that's because even you know you're pushing it here," I chortled. "There's no way you can justify the upset you were in with 'he had the gall to date some twit's younger _sister_ ', you were in some drunken rage last night my friend. I refuse to let you escape from this one."

"I really don't have feelings for Louis," she reiterated half-heartedly, and I didn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, I asked the important question. "How did you find out about it?"

At this, her mouth opened and closed a few times. "Er. I walked in on them rutting on the couch when I Floo'd over to pick up my sweater from that last time we got sloshed at his flat."

Oh, sure.

I bit my lip slightly. "Well are you _sure_ she's a _girlfriend,_ or—"

"Eileen, you don't understand," she earnestly explained. "He introduced me to her as his girlfriend. While they were naked, because their clothes were hanging from the ceiling fan. Her boobs were right there in front of me. It was awkward."

Not to mention traumatic.

"And you know what's worse?" she said entirely too bitterly. "She had nice boobs, too. I really liked them."

There was a moment of silence. Gee Louis. If the boy wanted to try out this girlfriend thing so bad, why couldn't he have just done it with Gina? They'd been dancing around each other for _years_ now; it was honestly a bit depressing.

"Best friend," she acknowledged what I meant to her in an abrupt change of tone. "What do you say to a change in lifestyle?"

I was interested. "What are you thinking of?"

"Well, there's always the option of giving up my material desires and retreating from this mean world to spend the rest of my days as a hermit in the Himalayas… ooh, or maybe trying out some nice sexual promiscuity and filthy freshness, lord knows this dry spell's lasted more than a reasonable while."

I paused to consider this deliberation. "Well," I began carefully. "They sound like two very… contradicting options."

"Yes, I assumed they ought to be, otherwise there wouldn't be much of a choice to make, would there?"

"Well," I said again, realizing I'd used that word quite a bit in the past few minutes. "And the assumption, I take, is that this has literally nothing to do with our previous topic of conversation?"

"Oh no," Gina said breezily, fiddling with the leftover honey on her plate. "Certainly not, it's something I've been considering for a _long_ while."

"Because you know, the fact that this is what you say immediately after your revelation kind of _suggests_ it's a reaction?"

"Don't be silly," she waved this away with her glittering mug. "Louis Weasley does not deserve a reaction this significant."

Sure, and I generally snack on pellets of Hippogriff excrement. Obviously, I wasn't friends with her for her stellar ability to rationalize a situation.

A beat of silence.

"Wanna make me another drink?"

"Fuck off and haul ass," I snorted, polishing off the last of my coffee. "Your shift starts at nine-thirty and you need a shower, you smell like week-old vomit."

Gina gave me a mock-disapproving frown as she got out of her chair, dressing gown already half off. "You're too nice," she muttered as she continued to casually disrobe. "How do you manage to live without falling in love with yourself?"

How offensive.

Who said I wasn't?

* * *

"Is that a runic _crossword_ , you inexplicable nerd? Where did you even find one?"

"Hello," I protested, looking up from my notebook where I was busily doing calculations. "Don't demean me for my intelligence. I found a book of them in Flourish & Blott's. They're interesting."

"You are a big, nerdy mess," Aggie Lowell persisted in observation.

"Careful there," I murmured distractedly. "Or I'll put you on toilet duty."

"Excuse you," she said, in a tone that greatly told of her disillusionment with the world. "I already am on toilet duty. Last one to offend the jukebox, remember? There's nothing worse you can do to me anymore. I can call you a nerd all I like."

I pursed my lips in consideration. "You play the guitar, right?" I asked and then continued without waiting for a response. "I could make you that weirdo that has to sing the birthday song every time an idiot decides to request one."

"That the worst you can do?" she tested.

"I can force you to finish this crossword by withholding payment."

"Don't do that," Aggie immediately said, leaping from where she was chilling on the countertop beside me. "I am a broke-ass ex-student and I need the money to fund my ambitious business enterprising."

"You sure?" I asked her doubtfully, resting my chin on the palm of my hand. "It's starting to sound quite appealing, to be honest."

"You are a mean human being."

"Did you just call Eileen mean?" said the ever-adorable Anthony Ali as he slid up next to me, putting a couple of clean glasses back into the cabinet and then giving me an sweet grin. With an absentminded wave of his wand, all the upturned chairs in the space separated from the tables and righted themselves. "Which alternative universe are you living in?" My cheeks pinked involuntarily.

Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow bartender-apprentice-thing was the best person in the world in that he happened to think the world of me. Aggie agreed, and obviously found this a point of contention. "Ant!" she said with exasperation. "You can't say anything, you think she's Merlin or something."

"No no," he hurried, shuffling awkwardly. "Don't make her Merlin. I'm trying to get into her pants, I don't want to ruin the image."

"Ant," I sighed, deciding to return to my crossword because who wanted to linger in this brand of insanity. "Please try to understand, that is not going to happen."

"Yes, because I'm eighteen and basically a child in your eyes," he agreed blithely as Aggie chortled in the background. "Just because I've given up my hopes and dreams does not mean I'm not allowed to live in a state of pitiful pretense."

"You're eloquent today," I observed passively as I scribbled some more. The washcloth inched closer to my hand and I rolled my eyes before waving my hand in approval, giving it a bit of a boost with my wand for good measure. It did some weird twirly happy thing before zipping off to do its duty of cleaning every inch of cleanable surface, and I went back to my time-killing. Sure, I could use cleaning charms—or punish the lowly waiters—but they somehow always forgot the tiny details. Better to just use the trusty rag. Behind me Ant was fluttering about fiddling with the glassware.

"I spent the whole morning with Lianne discussing titles for her book," he offered in explanation as he blew hot air at the beer mugs and then rubbed persistently with his own personal washcloth, effectively proving I actually wasn't a singular weirdo. "Or, better put, I sat there and read through half the thesaurus while she panicked in the background and drank half the coffee in the joint. Learnt a lot about both words and women today. It was a valuable lesson."

"A good, productive day of education," Aggie said in sad approval of his casual sexism, further demonstrating her disillusionment with the world. "Both shall complement each other in future endeavours."

Ant didn't seem to concur. "It isn't helping me with her," he pointed at me as I moved on to 17-across.

"Ant," Aggie, however, struggled to understand his complaint. "She's sitting there solving a _runic crossword._ "

A look of comprehension dawned upon his face. "Oh, I see."

"Hey!" I said, for the sake of his dignity. "How does that make him less worthy? No, don't look hopeful," I added as he began to look hopeful. "I might not be attracted to you but that doesn't mean you're an idiot."

"Thanks," he said wryly, and rather ungratefully in my opinion. I twitched my wand menacingly and he threw his hands up in mocking defense. The child.

Aggie, meanwhile, carried on regardless. Parking her butt back onto the countertop—something both Ant and I frowned at considering both our washcloths had _just_ finished wiping the spot—she folded her legs and assumed an all-knowing stare. "Sweetheart," she patronized him, pulling her long, wavy brown hair over one shoulder and giving him a consoling look that he found unimpressive. "It isn't so much you being an idiot than she being a complete _nerd_. She doesn't deserve you, my child."

"Oh, so that's how we're playing, are we?" I said threateningly. As if in reflection, the temperamental jukebox began to play Kung Fu Fighting on full volume.

Also, Ant found a problem with her referring to him as a child. "You're one year older than I am," he said drolly as she continued, unconcerned.

"Besides," she said wickedly, with absolutely zero sense of self-preservation. "The whole argument is kinda pointless after you realize she has a type, and that it actually seems to be messy-haired, ex-arch-enemy Quidditch hottie."

Oh no, she did _not_.

I gasped, outraged. "Toilet duty, you _prick!"_

And you know what she did?

She had the gall to smirk.

* * *

Muggle London was pretty. And grey.

It was around four 'o' clock in the evening, and since my shift was only due later in the day, I'd decided to make a quick trip to Diagon Alley to restock on ingredient supply. I would have Apparated, but the weather was nice for a change and the Leaky was only ten minutes away, so I thought a walk was befitting.

The bar was in Muggle London, yes, but conveniently accessible to the average witch and wizard through the gateway Floo entrance in Diagon Alley. Also, it was within walking distance of everything from the Wizarding International Port to the official Quidditch stadium that hid underneath the sprawling greens of Hyde Park, so it wasn't an awful location.

Unfortunately, Charing Cross came into view all too soon, and I quickly unzipped my leather bag to pull out a blue open robe to throw over my T shirt and shorts. Peering both ways just because, I hurried down the street and stumbled into the Leaky, cringing slightly at the immediate assault on my ears. There was, however, a very nice, welcoming feeling at the creak of the wooden doorway, and Hannah Longbottom was a sight for sore eyes, with the tacky plaid shirt and the pretty blonde hair glinting in the light as she flitted about from table to table, smiling bright as she scribbled into her notepad.

"Busy day, huh?" I said to my Aunt's closest friend in greeting, and laughed as she turned around and beamed.

"Very much so," she agreed, wrapping her arms around me in a short warm hug. "It's all the parents, dear. Now that the kids have all bundled off to school, they come panting by the dozen in dire need of a refresher."

"That sounds very depressing," I observed.

"It is," she agreed. "Headed off into Diagon, are you?" she asked me, and then held my hands in hers when I nodded. "Could you be a darling and pick me up a dozen dancing lilies from Rosemary's down the street? I need them for the rooms upstairs but I haven't been able to get a minute."

"No problem," I agreed, and was pleased when she kissed me on the cheek in response. "You're a peach, Eileen," she said as she pressed a galleon into my hand, and I agreed with that too, because truly, I was a peach, and brilliant at being one.

"Bye, Hannah!" I said as I departed, and could hear a last 'thank you!" from the pub as I stepped into the Alley.

As always, it was a burst of noise and lurid colour, and all the streets were rampant with rushing shoppers. The monstrosity that was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was just about visible at the turn of the corner and it was a distant cacaphony of giggling idiots, but the ringing absence of school children was very present in the Alley because no one was actually getting trampled. I waved at some familiar faces as I passed—old Mr. Fortescue and his little five-year-old grand-nephew Florean Jr., and Jemma Summers, an old Hufflepuff year-mate of mine who was wrangling a job under the keen eye of Madame Malkin. Some redhead—probably a Weasley, they were _everywhere_ —was walking into Ollivander's with a look of serious devastation—presumably, he broke his wand and needed a replacement. Schoolbooks were also being withdrawn from the displays at Flourish & Blott's, to be replaced by whatever currently sat on the Prophet's bestseller lists.

There was a pitter-pattering noise and I slid to the side just as a little, pink-haired bullet shot past where my legs previously walked, and I couldn't help the smile as a larger blue-haired bullet lumbered in pursuit. "Dorrie, get back here!"

"Sorry about that," said a pretty, melodious voice as the following blonde ran past me in a slower speed, and I saw her brows furrow as she recognized me. "What, Eileen Watts?" she said with a dawning grin, and I twiddled my fingers with an awkward smile as she suddenly remembered she was supposed to be running after an errant daughter. "I'll catch you sometime!"

Yes, goodbye, the cousins of my ex-archenemy, and thank you greatly for remembering me, and also for reminding me of my niggling troubles. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised considering I'd already played Spot-the-Weasley and won five minutes ago.

The Apothecary came into sight and I was relieved to have avoided any more encounters. Sometimes, the fact that the Wizarding World was so small compared to the Muggle one got very inconvenient. Everyone knew everyone.

Gosh.

"Ms. Watts," said a rough, gravelly voice, and I smiled, all teeth at the stern-looking man in front of the counter.

"Hello, Mr. Higgs," I said with an awkward wave of my hand.

"What inane brew are you planning to waste my ingredients on now?" he demanded, looking incredibly like a mother protecting her young babies from the evil wretch that threatened to use them to make weak, offensive, purposeless swill.

"Just because they aren't cool, magical, useful concoctions that repair broken minds and make people lucky!" I sulked, feeling justifiably indignant as I attempted to give him a hug just to spite him. He dodged incredibly and glowered some more. "Makeup manufacturers are just as useless but you don't go around demeaning their practices."

Mr. Higgs raised a pompous finger and narrowed his eyes so that it looked like they were being swallowed down by his bushy white eyebrows. I tried not to laugh at the image it conjured. "That's because they order in wholesale and avoid face-to-face interaction. It's not my fault you're an idiot who comes to collect in person."

"Yes, but that hardly sounds fair," I argued as I walked closer to the herb section where I could be traumatically confronted with nothing like rat spleen and frog entrails, and picked up a jar of fairy wings. "I'll take a quarter of this…" I also picked up some Mandrake leaves and Yarrowflower stems. "And quarters of these as well. Just because seeing your dimpling grin is a sight for sore eyes, and I drop everything to come bear witness to it despite your rancid approach to the goodness of friendship."

"…There's a new shipment of Jallopy seeds too," Mr. Higgs sighed grumpily as he rang up my purchases, and a slight blush was unwillingly making its way across his face at my words, which pleased me inordinately. I just _knew_ he liked me. Then as if acutely tuned to the measure of my happiness and positively determined to avoid encouraging it in any way, the smile immediately dropped and I pouted. "Shall I toss in a quarter of that too?"

"Yes please," I said. "Come by for a drink sometime, Mr. Higgs," I continued as I handed him three galleons for my bounty, and laughed when he gave me an even worse scowl.

"Try not to kill drunk people," I heard him shout as I left, which made me freeze at the entrance. "And strike a friendship with the DMLE in case they haul you on a murder charge!"

"Don't listen to the old kook," I said to the cautious looking mother who hid her little son behind her skirt when I made direct eye contact with her. I laughed nervously. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Mr. Higgs, don't be a tit, man!" And then I legged it.

Perhaps I shouldn't have called an old man a 'tit' in front of a tiny, impressionable human being, but hey. Whatever.

Now to grab the flowers and then escape before word gets around that I'm a budding murderer in the making.

Who knew Diagon Alley could get so eventful.

* * *

" _So baby, baby, find me falling for your witching ways, drive me crazy, crazy, let me give you something to thi-i-i-nk about, hey honey—"_

Mm, talk about hottie, think about Gregory Goyle and his crooning whispers. He can give me something to think about any day.

"We," began Lorcan Scamander as he peered into the simmering shrimp bisque through the sleek white spectacles perched on his nose. He was also sipping on a nice Crooked Cider and looking like a star in the process of it all. I was admiring. "The workers of this fine establishment, have come to a consensus and I am spokesperson."

I nodded distractedly as I tried to figure out exactly when a generous helping of Snargaluff peppers veered into the realm of entirely _too_ much for this new brandy based cocktail I was working on. "What about?"

"Well, it's about what plans you have for this place and how you're going to save us."

"What… plans?" I asked, puzzled, A humming Lianne walked by to float in some food order slips and I grinned at her before returning my gaze to the nonchalant, completely harmless-looking Lorcan. "Save you from what?"

"You know," he waved a ladle with grace. "You've been tinkering with new recipes for quite a long time, mixing muggle and magical ingredients, et cetera… what do you want to do with them?"

"Well, what _can_ I do with them?" I frowned, staring down at the page full of notes and calculations. Excuse you, making a new drink with ingredients as volatile as the ones I use was a matter of precision and care.

"I don't know," he said, dipping a spoon into the pot to get a bit of a taste—yes, Lorcan Scamander might have been a wizard, but bisques weren't meant to be messed around with magic. "What does Moira think about them?"

"Well," I said, thinking about my aunt and wincing slightly. "She doesn't actually know, really—don't tell her—I didn't want to bother her with these things, she's already got a lot of worrying to do with…" I bit my lip, "You know—"

"Yes, yes, the Waffling's dying," he waved the ladle again and I stared at him in horror. "What?" he shrugged with a blithe smile. "Everyone knows. She let go of half the staff, man. Why else would I ask about how you're planning to save us?"

In the background I winced, remembering the look on everybody's faces as I pushed away my papers and sample ingredients. That still tended to incite feelings of great guilt, actually.

"But back to my point," he continued regardless, sprinkling in a couple springs of fresh thyme and then tasting it again. I caught a whiff of the aroma and unintentionally swooned in my seat. "Why haven't you shown her your recipes? I mean, have you even entertained the idea of… I don't know, changing things up with the Waffling maybe? How do you plan to save us?"

I sputtered, trying to ignore the niggling in my brain that insisted what he was talking about actually sounded really appealing. "Aunt Moira wouldn't fly for that shit. She likes the Odd Waffling like it is."

"Then why do you spend every day tinkering about with them like some mad scientist?" he asked me bluntly, and I was caught a bit off guard.

"Because," I paused. "It's fun?"

"But it's complicated," he pressed with a glint in his eyes. "You mix Muggle and magical ingredients, and you heavily depend on your Runes and Potions expertise to do it, because of the very real danger that you might accidentally kill people if you aren't careful. You test it on us and on Gina. You fund the whole process by cutting your own paycheck. That's a lot of _work_."

"Yes," I struggled to understand his point. "It is, but it's fun."

Lorcan was not hindered by my apparent stupidity. "Then why do you get tetchy when people stick to ordering Firewhiskeys and Whistling Waters? No, don't sputter at me," he added when I made half-hearted 'pft' noises. "You're always moaning on about how boring people are. That doesn't sound like a simple hobby."

"No," I tried to refute. "That just sounds like me being a judging twat. I should stop, maybe."

"That's not the point," he said exasperated. "I judge people when they order French fries too, but that's not making me go around putting Unicorn hair in people's meals."

"Devil's Snare leaves actually have this nice, taut, spicy taste thing going on though, you could consider using them for your grub recipes—"

"Okay, here's a new line of thinking," he cut me off before I could go on a tangent. "You turned down a Ministry job to work in a bar. You're smart. You clearly like to experiment. Why aren't you working with the Unspeakables? Or generally working as an Experimentalist, if you're so fond of tinkering? Why play with beverage?"

"Hey, just because I'm a bartender doesn't mean I'm wasting away," I protested. "I'm still _happy_ here—"

"Girl, you are not understanding me," he said, mad that I was unable to understand him. "You're clearly serious about this. Why don't you _do_ something with it?"

Okay, serious talk.

I sighed, picking at the edge of one of my papers and then drumming my knuckles on the white marble counter I was sitting on. "You know how attached Aunt Moira is to the memory of this place. She wouldn't want to change things."

Clearly, since the place hadn't changed since she and her sister—my mother—had first designed it, and she hadn't dared to move a single thing since she died of Dragon Pox twenty years ago.

"How do you know?" he asked, staring at the bisque with a considering expression before tossing in a couple of spoons of lemon juice. "You haven't shown it to her."

"Yes," I agreed, because I hadn't.

"You could show her a few samples," he suggested, starting small, and looked relatively hopeful when I didn't immediately shoot it down. "And maybe write a whole new business plan for a rebranded Odd Waffling."

"Wait, what—"

"You could make a presentation! Pitch it as a molecular gastronomical experience or whatever—"

"What, you're a Pureblood, how do you even know what that means—"

"And turn the Waffling into a space for experimenters, and daring adventurers—"

"Now wait just a moment—"

"Really _reel_ in that hot Cursebreaker and Animal Tamer crowd, I haven't been laid in _ages—"_

"Okay, one second—"

"And if she hates it, do it anyway because I'm making this sound really tempting and you own half of it, don't you, from your mother—"

"Lorcan!" I cut him off, now frustrated. He gave me an unimpressed look, because Lorcan Scamander had inherited some ridiculous unflappability from his mother, and did not regret is blunt honesty. "I might be part-owner, but this place is my _aunt's._ It's her _baby._ I wouldn't do anything like that to her. I'm just a bartender."

"No," he corrected, basically unfazed at my emotional discharge, which was a bit saddening. "You're her _niece_. There's a difference."

A beat of silence.

"Oh _Merlin_ , I knew you guys resented the fact that I was kept around while Abby and Marcus and Jonathan were let go even though I was newer, but nobody said anything, I am so sorry man—"

"Eileen Watts, can you try not to overreact for one second," he asked me calmly, which immediately put a lid on my somewhat abrupt escalation. "No one resents you, are you _stupid?_ "

"That's a nice way of reassuring me, thank you—"

"It also isn't the _point_ , I have no idea where this is even coming from—" he rolled his eyes at me with annoyance.

"I really do apologize though, I mean _really_ —"

"How would she even fire you?" he asked wonderingly, making me blink. "One, you're the only other bartender, and good at it; two, you're part-owner. You have some serious immunity. Oh, and three, you're also her _niece._ Make a presentation."

"Make a _presentation?!_ "

"Yes, make a presentation—"

"Oh, so should I stick to a Powerpoint or should we go all out with pie charts and the whole shindig—"

"Wait, why would you make a chart out of pie? That sounds stupid—"

"OI!," shouted a hassled looking Finch as she marched into the room with an armful of fresh potatoes. "Quit squabbling and get to it, Scamander, we have five French fry orders and two more Chef Special bisques, plus Eileen," she regarded me with great distaste, and I made myself small. No one resents me, eh, Scamander? "What are you doing in here? Isn't your job on the _outside_?"

"Shift doesn't start in two hours," I muttered, but began to pack up my things anyway because Finch was scary and I did not want to ruffle any feathers. "I'll just go—"

"You sit," Lorcan pointed his ladle at me, but I was already booking it. "Hey!" he called out as I left. "You make that presentation!"

"You make it!"

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hello. Done Chapter 2. Might edit it, it's basically just a series of conversations, but I was anxious to upload it since it's been ages. Do tell me what you think about it! And thank you to the one reviewer, I hope you aren't too mad that I took so long. :)

Have a good day!


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